


Big Sky Country

by faranth



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Grand Teton National Park, M/M, exchange fic (2013), nations loving their land
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3390251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faranth/pseuds/faranth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America takes Canada on a camping trip.  There, they get reacquainted with the land--and with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Sky Country

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in 2013 for an AmeCan exchange. This is cross-posted from tumblr.

_“I’d give my life and throw the rest away_  
to the mountains; I can rest there  
to the rivers; I will be strong  
to the forests; I’ll find peace there  
to the wild country, where I belong”

[ _John Denver_ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7duBXExqqX0)

—

It strikes Matthew as odd, when Alfred calls him in the middle of the night and invites him camping.  Matthew groans into the phone and asks Alfred what he’s on about, but Alfred’s voice is quieter than usual, and something strange in it wakes Matthew up.

“Please, Matt,” the other nation whispers.  “I’d really like it if you came.”

Matthew sighs and rubs his eyes, shifting.  Alfred sounds tired, and although Matthew wants to tell him that he should just  _go to bed_ , he recognizes that it’s not any sort of weariness that can be eased through sleep.  Matthew knows exhaustion like that; it’s the same that he feels: all the world’s politics weighing heavy on their shoulders.  Kumajiro grumbles beside him but doesn’t wake, and Matthew runs his fingers through the bear’s fur, waiting for him to settle before he speaks. 

“All right, Al,” he replies, biting back a yawn.  “But call me back later with the details.  When the sun’s up.”

“Gotcha, Matt.  I’ll talk to you later,” Alfred laughs, sounding more like himself.  Then the phone clicks off, and Matthew settles back against his pillow.  His last coherent thought is that he’ll have to make arrangements for the bear.

—

Matthew steps out of the Jackson Hole Airport in the early morning, half asleep and stiff from his flight from Ottawa.  The air is cool and clear, and Matthew can’t help but admire the view of the mountains in the distance.  He turns eastward and watches the sky lighten and allows the tension in his shoulders to ease.

“Matt!  Hey, Matt!”  Alfred’s voice breaks the silence of the morning, and Matthew startles, turning to the other man, who grins broadly at him, laughing. 

“Alfred!  I was wondering where you were.”

“Looks more like you were spacing out,” Alfred retorts, slinging an arm over Matthew’s shoulders and guiding them toward his truck. 

“I was on an airplane for five hours,” Matthew says wryly, “and in an airport for five more.”  He lets Alfred’s arm stay wear it is, because it’s solid and Matthew feels grounded, even as Alfred’s smile makes him light-headed.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t catch an earlier flight out, by the way.  Boss had some last minute paperwork for me to finish.”  He’s going to have a ton to do when he gets back, he thinks, grimacing.

Alfred rolls his eyes but waves Matthew off.  He’s fond of his own Boss, but the man is the same way.  “Can’t do anything about that,” he drawls, accent long rolling.  He seems at ease as he leads Matthew to his truck, but Matthew can feel the stiffness of his shoulders, too, and knows that Alfred is just as stressed. 

Perhaps all the work that’ll be waiting for him back in Ottawa is worth it.

When they reach Alfred’s old Chevy, Matthew tosses his pack into the backseat and climbs in beside Alfred. 

“Got you coffee,” Alfred tells him, nodding at the cup.  “Might be a little cold by now, but I figured you’d want it anyway.”

Matthew murmurs his thanks and reaches for it, because Alfred’s right.  He’s not fond of cold coffee, but caffeine’s caffeine, and he needs it.  He settles himself as comfortably as he can, glad for the truck’s leg space, as Alfred starts to tell him their plans.

“We’ve got ‘bout two, three hours to drive, and then I thought we could hike a bit towards the valley.” 

“That sounds perfect,” Matthew murmurs, perking a little at the prospect of a good long hike.  It’s something he hasn’t had time for in months, and while it’s not quite Canada—not his own lifeblood in the rivers and rocks and mountain peaks—Wyoming is pretty damn gorgeous and Matthew doesn’t mind admitting it.  This is geography he shares with Alfred, after all, both familiar and foreign, and the thought of exploring it with his brother nation takes him back to a time when it was just them and their wilderness.

He hadn’t realized till now just how much he misses sharing that with Alfred.

They drive in companionable silence, and Matthew watches the Grand Tetons looming ever closer.  The nearer they get, the more restless Matthew feels, and he aches to get lost in them.  Alfred drives with his left arm hanging out the window, seemingly at ease, but Matthew catches his legs twitching every once in awhile and knows that he’s just as eager.

—

Matthew jerks from a sleep he hadn’t realized he’d drifted into when he feels Alfred stop short.  “What’s th’ matter?”  He slurs without opening his eyes. 

“Nothin’,” Alfred replies, holding back laughter.  “Look.”

When Matthew does, he sees the issue immediately and snorts.  “Been a long time since I’ve had to stop for bison.”  Luckily for them, they seem to have caught the tail-end of the herd as it crosses to road.

“They used to be as vast as the sea,” Alfred murmurs.  He sounds far away, and when Matthew turns to him, he notices that Alfred’s gazing somewhere beyond the herd, to a time before national parks and westward expansion.

“I remember,” Matthew whispers.  He tugs his seat belt away from his neck and swallows.   “They were mine, too.”

They lapse into silence again, and Matthew is glad that out here, Alfred doesn’t feel the need fill the quiet with his chatter, the way he would back east.  There’s something about the vast, open space that makes them both philosophical, and neither of them want to break the mood.

Matthew likes Alfred like this, likes the Alfred who lets go and allows himself to slow down and breathe.  This is not America-the-World-Power but Alfred-the-boy who Matthew grew up wandering with while France and England played politics in Europe.  They’d only had each other back then, despite the conflicts between their people and their European colonizers.

Matthew reaches for Alfred’s hand and is gratified when he squeezes back.

—

“Finally!”  Alfred says, stretching languidly as they step from the car.  “I thought we’d never make it.”

“It went pretty fast once we passed the bison,” Matthew reminds him, rolling his shoulders.  His muscles are cramped from sitting for so long, and the hike to their campground is just want he needs to limber up.

Alfred pulls his backpack on, shifting till it rests comfortably against him, and then secures it.  Matthew follows suit and breathes deeply as he follows Alfred away from the car.

“It’s been ages since I’ve had time to get away from Washington,” he says as they walk. 

“I know.  I don’t think I’ve left Ottawa in six months.  I felt like I was going stir crazy, all cooped up in my office.”

Alfred laughs, and Matthew is struck by the way his eyes reflect the sky around them.  “I think I’ve annoyed everyone in the White House, chomping at the bit the way I’ve been.  My Boss couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.”

“So he foisted you off on me,” Matthew teases and is rewarded by another of Alfred’s deep rumbling laughs.

“Nah, man, not at all!  That was my idea.”  Alfred winks at him, and Matthew snorts, but he can’t say that he’s not enjoying himself, and Alfred knows it.

Silence seems to be a theme of this trip, Matthew thinks, because eventually, the conversation lapses again as he and Alfred both concentrate on where they put their feet.  Wildflowers dot the hills, little splashes of color among the green, the sky is clear and cloudless, and the breeze is gentle.  All in all, it is an absolutely perfect day, and Matthew feels invigorated.

Every once in awhile, they stop each other to point out birds and bison in the distance or to listen to the hawks cry, but none of it compares to the moment when Alfred creeps over a ridge and trembles in excitement.

“Mattie, c’mere and look!  But quietly!”  He sheds his pack quickly and edges forward.  When Matthew comes up beside him, he understands why.

Hidden by the hills is a herd of wild horses, grazing placidly.  There are foals with them, frolicking and chasing one another through the grass, and Matthew can’t help but smile at the sight of them.  Most captivating, though, is the stallion that guards them.  The buckskin gleams in the sunlight, all golden despite the dirt and dust the horses kick up as they move.

“Mustangs,” Alfred breathes.  Alfred adores all of his wildlife, but it’s the mustangs Alfred loves best, because for all of his bustling cities, the man is a cowboy at heart and has told Matthew that few things get his heart pounding the way galloping bareback across the plains does.

Matthew’s pretty sure he’s the only one who knows that about him.

“I remember that stallion when he was young,” Alfred murmurs, interrupting Matthew’s thoughts.  “He came from a different herd, but he fought a big gray monster to win these mares.”

“How old is he now?”

“Oh, god, sixteen or seventeen years maybe?  Kinda old for a wild horse.  He breeds good strong foals though.”

“I can imagine,” Matthew says, watching one of the mares chase her foal back to the safety of the group.  “He must, if he’s managed to last this long.”  Matthew knows horseflesh too, and can see that the stallion isn’t the only one who’s healthy.  The small stocky mares are all hidden power, and the foals are energetic and curious.  He wants to get closer, but Alfred draws away from the ridge, slowly so as not to disturb the mustangs.

“Next time, we can bring our own horses out,” Alfred tells him.  He shrugs into his pack again and adjusts the weight till he’s ready to move.

“Next time you can come up to Canada,” Matthew replies.  He wants to return the favor, and they have plenty more shared geography to reconnect with.

Alfred flips his hair out of his eyes and beams at his counterpart as they carefully leave the herd.  “Perfect.” 

—

Big Sky Country indeed, Matthew thinks when they come to the spot where Alfred says they’ll settle for the night.  They stop on another ridge, this time looking out over the valley, and the sky seems to go on forever.  It’s endlessly blue, bright the way that Alfred’s eyes have been since they set out. 

“How do you like it?”  Alfred asks.  His voice is surprisingly shy, and Matthew can’t help but grin wildly at him.  He’s sure that his face is as flushed as Alfred’s is right now, a product of the sun and their hike and the glorious landscape before them.

“It’s amazing, Al,” he replies.  Alfred’s answering smile sets butterflies loose in Matthew’s belly, and he can’t help but pull him into a hug.  They stare out over the mountains resting cheek to cheek, the way that their border runs.

After a moment of basking, Alfred turns to whisper into Matthew’s ear.  “This is one of my favorite places in the whole world.  I know I’m not supposed to like any one place over the others, but I can’t help it.  There’s just something about being here.”

Matthew understands.  He has places like that too—it brings to mind his own section of the Rocky Mountains, and his Alberta prairies—and he knows what Alfred means.  It’s not that they love any part of their land less; it’s just that there’s something special about these bits of wilderness they can escape to.  It’s a sort of freedom that they, being nations, don’t otherwise have.

When they come out here, politics and diplomacy are overshadowed, and the arguments that tear them apart are silenced.

They set up camp quickly.  Alfred had brought a tent for them to share, but the summer nights have been so lovely that Alfred tells Matthew that he’d rather sleep under the stars instead.  He can’t help but agree, so they leave it and instead roll their sleeping bags out beside the fire.

Dinner is simple; just hot dogs and beans—“Cowboy food, sort of,” Alfred laughs after, as they sip their coffee and watch the sunset.  The fire blazes brightly before them, and Alfred nudges Matthew’s shoulder playfully.  “Hey, it wouldn’t be camping without s’mores,” he says, reaching behind him for the marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers he brought along.

Matthew rolls his eyes because he should have known, but his smile is gleeful and he laughs when Alfred tosses him a stick perfect for roasting.  “Can’t forget the s’mores,” he agrees.  He snags a couple marshmallows and spears them eagerly before setting them into the fire. 

As they eat, Matthew learns more about why this is Alfred’s special place:

“I came out here after my Civil War,” Alfred begins.  He enthusiastically bites into his snack, but his shoulders are tense again, and Matthew can see that he’s pensive.  “I had to get out of DC after…  After Lincoln.”  He stumbles over the President’s name, and Matthew knows he’s never quite recovered from the man’s death.  He’d done so much for Alfred.

“You were kind of a mess after everything,” Matthew murmurs, almost tentatively.  He remembers how sickly and thin Alfred had been all throughout that war, although England hadn’t wanted him to have much contact with the southern nation for fear that war was catching.

Besides, England had been in bed with the Confederates for awhile.

Alfred snorts and swipes one of Matthew’s chocolates.  “Mess is an understatement,” he replies, ignoring Matthew’s protest at the loss of his candy.  He manages a lopsided grin, although Matthew can see that it’s kind of pained.  “Anyway, I didn’t really want to deal with anyone, especially what with the way everyone was arguing about what to do with the South.  Reconstruction turned out to be a shitstorm anyway.”

But he turns to grin at Matthew, and his teeth flash in the firelight.  “So I thought I should go west, because I hadn’t had a chance to before the war.  After Lincoln’s funeral, I bought a train ticket out to Missouri.  From there I’d bought a horse—a little Appaloosa called Sally—”  Alfred smiles fondly at the mare who’d been his only companion while he recovered “—and set out west.  We fell in with some cowboys for awhile, in Kansas, but they were headed back to Texas and I didn’t want to go there.”

“So you came out here instead.”  It’s a statement, because Matthew already knows the answer.

“Yup.  It was just the Wyoming Territory then, and you could go miles without seeing another soul.”  Alfred licks the chocolate from his fingers and frowns into the fire.

“Sounds lonely,” Matthew whispers.  He blows on his marshmallow to cool it and then carefully pulls it from the stick.

“It was,” Alfred says.  “But it was kind of what I wanted.”  Then Alfred grins.  “’Sides, if I hadn’t come out here, then we wouldn’t be here right now, would we, and you wouldn’t be having such a grand ol’ time.”  Matthew laughs and prods the fire.  He stands to toss more logs onto it, and then pokes it again, till the flames flare around the wood.

“Guess that’s true,” Matthew says when he settles back down.  He nudges Alfred with his shoulder and adds, “And I really am glad you called, even though I can do without you doing it at three am.”  Alfred snickers, tugging his jacket about his shoulders and burrowing into the sheepskin lining.

“But anyway, ever since then I’ve come out here when I have to work on things,” Alfred says once he’s calmed his chuckling.  Matthew tilts his head to look at him, but Alfred is too busy staring up at the stars dotting the sky to notice the look on Matthew’s face.

“Yourself,” Matthew breathes.  He shifts closer to Alfred to feel him pressed along his side, and he takes comfort in the whisper of their border along the edges of his mind.

“Myself,” Alfred agrees after a moment.  He swallows hard and turns to look at Matthew, and Matthew swears he can see the stars sparkling in the other nation’s eyes.  “I get so tired sometimes, you know?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Matthew feels compelled to answer anyway.  “I do know.”

“That’s what I thought.”  Alfred smiles, and reaches for his hand.  “It’s why I invited you along.  You looked like you needed a break.  Besides, I kind of missed this: just you and me and the land.  It hasn’t been like that for a long time.”

Alfred’s hand is warm and firm in Matthew’s, and he can feel the calluses on Alfred’s fingers.  They’re strong hands, worn from centuries of agriculture—years that haven’t quite been erased by city life.

That warmth mirrors the feeling that pools in Matthew’s belly, and Matthew threads his fingers through Alfred’s.  It’s nice, he thinks, to know that there’s someone watching out for him.  Matthew doesn’t really need anybody to take care of him; he can do that himself, but Alfred’s right.  He  _had_  needed to get away, and being here in the middle of Alfred’s wilderness with nothing but the mountains and forest and the great big sky and his other half is more than Matthew could have ever hoped for.  He’s glad that Alfred noticed, and he resolves, again, to bring Alfred to the place he goes to hide away when he himself gets too overwhelmed.

“Thanks, Al,” he says.  For bringing him here, for sharing things he’s never shared with anyone else, for trusting him, he doesn’t say, because he can’t find the voice for them.  Even if he can’t vocalize them, though, Matthew sees Alfred’s smile widen in the darkness and knows that they are enough.  Alfred understands.

They hold hands for the rest of the night.


End file.
